My Better Half
by Jayne Foyer
Summary: What can George do, now that Fred is dead? The hurt is just too much, he's going to explode... But, although he may refuse to admit it, he has to keep going on. After all, he's not the only one who's in pain.


George sprinted as fast as he could, almost as if he could outrun the pain. This couldn't be happening. It was all a dream, all a bad dream…

"DAMMIT!" he yelled, dropping to his knees and pulling at his hair. "DAMMIT!"

He shook his head, his whole body shaking with sobs. He fell to his hands and knees, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see it.

It made him sick to look at. Neat, tidy, proper. It looked like the kind of thing Percy would like. But not Fred. Fred should have gotten, he should have gotten much more than this, he should have gotten something that would ensure he was remembered forever, because _how could they go on, how could anyone ever live again knowing, knowing what had happened, how were they supposed to continue?_

George stood up and ran to the grave, kicking the flowers, kicking the little windmill Ginny had left, and crushing the picture of Fred into the dust. _Stupid grave, with the stupid memorial, and the stupid – the stupid, 'Always Remembered' – of course he'll be – always –_

George let out a scream of fury, of confusion, of grief. He had believed it, stood his ground, up to this point, and now, now he was going insane, hah, he'd be with Fred again, if he could only _die_

"_No_," he hissed at himself. "Don't think like that, George. Don't… calm down…" He closed his eyes and shook his head angrily, the tears showering the grave like rain. "I can't help thinking, Fred," he began loudly. "I can't help thinking about…" He paused, grief beating down the anger. "Damn."

He kneeled down, picking up the ragged flowers and laid them on the grave again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Don't give me the _don't be sorry, it's not your fault_ – though you can't, can you, seeing as you're dead."

He stared at the headstone.

"I can barely get my head around this, Fred," he continued. "You're dead, and that means I'm on my own… _I'm on my own_… how _can _I be on my own? We're twins, Fred, and we're meant to go through life completing each other's sentences, I've already stopping midsentence a couple times, Mum looks at me like I can't finish because I'm in so much pain, she _pities _me, but I'm just waiting for you to finish, and you can't, you're not going to, and I just think, _did I really just do that_, and I didn't speak at your funeral because of that, everyone thought I was too busy mourning you, but I was afraid I'd only say half a sentence, and then everyone would laugh, though they should have been laughing, because it was your funeral, and you like laughing, you like – you like jokes – you're-"

He cut off, choking on tears.

"YOU'RE DEAD, FRED," he bellowed, clutching onto the headstone. "You're _dead_… and there's nothing, there was nothing I could do, I just had to watch, as, as it hit you, and-"

He screamed again.

"_I hate this, Fred,_" he whispered. "I hate this, I can't stand it. And I have to live, to pretend nothing happened, and I _can't do that_, I…"

He shook his head, tears running down his face.

"I love you so much," he said, his anger seeping out of him. "I'm so tired of listening to people telling me how sorry they are. '_It's horrible, George_,' they say. '_Losing your twin. But he died to make this a better world, didn't he? Be proud, George, be proud_.'"

George's whole body began to shake.

"It doesn't matter the way you died, Fred. You're still dead."

He paused, taking in the grave, searching it with his eyes.

"They tell me," he began hoarsely. "They tell me that you will forever live on in our hearts and memories. That we can find you in the pauses in between breaths, the moments when we're half asleep and half awake…

"But no. All the wonderful things they say about dead people are never true, are they? Dead people are just… gone."

He stared at the grave.

"Yeah, it's true," said a voice from behind George. "They're all just gone."

George turned around.

Ron stood there, holding a couple flowers. He held them up at George's gaze. "Ginny picked these. She's asleep though, so I thought I would pop down here and drop them off."

He paused.

"How long have you been there?" asked George dully.

Ron shrugged. "Long enough."

There was silence between the two brothers for a moment.

"He is my brother too, George," said Ron, staring at his brother.

"He _was _your brother, you mean," replied George, reflecting Ron's stare.

Ron shook his head slowly. "No. He is my brother. And so are you."

George finally tore his eyes from Ron's, ashamed of the tears that were forming there.

"He was my twin."

"And Mum and Dad's son, and Lee's and Angelina's and everybody else's friend."

George angrily wiped a tear from his eye.

"What do you know? You're just a kid."

Ron looked at him gloomily.

"Yeah. I am just a kid. But so are you."

George glared at Ron.

"I'm less of a kid than you are." Even as he said it, George realized how childish these words sounded.

Ron nodded slowly. "You are."

They were silent for another moment.

Ron didn't even think about it; in one fluid movement, he stepped over to his brother and embraced him.

He said nothing; what could he say? Their brother was dead and never coming back – what could anyone say?

Ron let go of George. He slowly laid the flowers down on the grave. "I'll – I'll just leave you to your thoughts, then," he said, straightening up. He began to walk back, then stopped. "Everyone's waiting for you, at the house. Hurry back."

He turned and disappeared into the night.

George sighed and looked at the grave. He stared at it.

Maybe, he could have imagined it, but, suddenly, George felt a gentle tug at his arm. He looked around, but there was nothing there.

Nothing, nothing but a faint whisper carried in the air, like fall leaves in the wind…

_…buck up, Georgie…_

_Honestly, _he heard. _The thought of going anywhere without my better half…_

George closed his eyes, smiling.

"_God_, I love you, Fred," he whispered, making his way back to the Burrow.

* * *

I know, I know, it isn't very good... but I love Fred and I love George and I love Ron, so, there, whatever. :(

MAY 9TH – REFREDDING DAY. CELEBRATE IT!!


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